


our little vignette

by ToTheMax



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Origin Story, The Wild West, Web Series: Tales from the SMP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToTheMax/pseuds/ToTheMax
Summary: Crops doesn't know why the little orphan boy takes an interest in him. He's the cannibal they keep locked away for the safety of the rest of town, never allowed to see the light of day.Yet, Benny comes to see him every day, with a smile on his face and a deck of cards in his hands. Two friends, that the rest of town doesn't care about. That's all they'll ever be.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 168





	our little vignette

**Author's Note:**

> ranboo. mister live sir you told us that the butler was kidnapped from the wild west and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. have this because I love crops and I will be damned if he doesn't get any content

_"I don't need scrappers like you snooping through my jail. So you best keep outta' that building, boy."_

He was never one to listen to orders like that. Unfortunately, those were the only orders that the sheriff knew, so he never listened– and as such, he got in trouble a lot.

He didn't listen when the sheriff insist he go with John to the saloon instead and drink to his heart's content.

He didn't listen now, when the sheriff told him to keep out while he hopped on his horse to ride off, chasing the Bandits into the sunset. No, he took that opportunity to weasel in through the door.

He knew they kept a monster in the jail, but the fact that he had never seen said monster is what drove his relentless curiosity. Granted, he wasn't exactly equipped to come face-to-face with what the Sheriff described as _an affront to Prime and anything else holy_. All he brought with him was a deck of playing cards he had swiped from John's saloon.

Dusty black hair fell in front of his face as he pushed the door aside. He instinctively drew his vest across himself, taking in a breath.

 _Oh, ew!_ The air he breathed was stale and rotten, as if he just sniffed a penny from the bank. He reached for his bandana, pulling on it to cover his nose. Once he smothered the smell well enough, he cast his eyes around the building.

It was fairly small; a single chair lay in front of a sturdy oaken desk, and atop the desk lay several quills, papers and other knick-knacks. Beside the desk, and right in front of the boy, were two jail cells larger than the walking space he had. Iron bars glinted in the harsh sunlight that shone through the slats in the woodboards making up the walls. The shadows were so dark the boy barely saw the form of someone sitting in the cell. 

The man was staring at him, hunched over himself with an arm propped up on his knee as he sat in his cot. There wasn't much definition to his features in the shade, but the boy didn't need to be close to know who it was in the cell. 

Despite his heart picking up pace, he mustered out a greeting. "Um… hello."

"Howdy," the man answered back in a deep, gravelly voice. He didn't move from his position.

"I'm not supposed ta' be in here," The boy admitted.

"No, you really ain't." 

"But… I wanted ta' come n' see ya." The boy swallows, pulling his bandana more over his nose. "I… hope you don't mind."

The man hesitated for a moment, giving a contemplative growl. Then, his spine cracked with movement as he stretched out his long limbs, one by one, until he was standing in his cell. In one hand, he held something small and rounded. As he came forward into the light, the boy saw the object dripping in viscera and realized it was a skull. The skin and muscle was peeled away, empty eye sockets oozing red gore.

"Now… why would a young'un like yourself want to see a man like me?" The prisoner asked. He knelt down to the boy's height, revealing his discolored and bloody face. A single purple rabbit ear jutted out from stringy black locks of hair, and his right eye was blank and milky white– a stark juxtaposition from the piercing red of his left. He opened his mouth the slightest bit to reveal jagged yellow fangs. A line of blood ran down his chin.

The boy swallowed hard, straightening his posture. "Wuh-well… I figure you get lonely in here. I'd hate to be stuck in a little room all day, 'specially if my only company is Sheriff Thompson." He chuckled sheepishly, hiking his shoulders up as he did so.

"...Heh." the man mustered up a choked, rumbly laugh, and his fangs grew into a weary smile. "The Sheriff ain't gonna like that you're in here, boy."

"He doesn't like me regardless." A shrug. "I say whatever to it."

The man chuckled again, and dropped the skull in his hand so it rolled away from him. "You got a name, son?"

That took the boy off guard. He jerked his head back a fraction, looking down at his boots. "Uh. Yeah."

" _Uh,_ " the man mocked, and although he meant it in a lighthearted way his voice didn't show it. "Well, what is it?"

"It's, um… B-Benny." He hadn't said it in a while– he nearly forgot the answer.

"Benny?" The man tilted his head. "Haven't heard that name around town."

"Nobody calls me by my name," Benny muttered, crossing his arms. "They find it easier to call me _son_ or _boy_ or _little orphan kid_."

"Hmm. I can relate." The man shifted his position to sit cross-legged, and Benny copied him. "They don't call me Crops. They find it easier ta' call me _cannibal_ or _monster_ , or– my favorite– _drop off from the freak show_."

"Crops?" Benny tilted his head to the side. "That's… a nice name. Like, the wheat crops we grow on the outside a' town?"

"Yeah. That kind a' Crops." Crops nodded. "Benny ain't too bad a name either. Suits a kid like you."

Benny smiled, then tugged down his bandana to free his face. "Thanks. I think I'm getting used to the smell in here."

"Smells good, right?" Crops swayed his body side-to-side, appearing as though he might fall over. His rabbit ear twitched and wavered with his movements. "Best thing about eating other folks is that every time smells like dinner time. Downside is I'm always hungry…"

Benny felt a squirm in his stomach, and without realizing he had backed away from the cell door. His eyes wandered and found the skull sitting beside Crops in the shade. "So you… actually eat folks?"

"It sounds scarier than it is." Crops maneuvered his swaying to lean into the cell bars. He rested his forehead against them, his ear poking through to the other side. "When a snake has fangs, it uses 'em. I ain't no different."

"I mean… I-I guess?" Benny scratched the back of his neck. "You _do_ have some… pretty sharp teeth." His eyes stayed stuck on the skull. "Who… was that?"

Crops lazily raised an eyebrow, tilting back to look at the skull. "Mmm. I don't think about that kind of stuff anymore."

"Oh." Benny squirmed again. "Would… would you eat me?"

"Probably," Crops admitted. "I mean, maybe not. Little boys like you still got a hell of a life to live. It's like killing a calf when you got a whole bull."

"Oh," Benny said again, because he didn't know what to say to that. "So, what made you start eating people?"

"What made _you_ start eating the food on your plate?" Crops raised his eyebrows. "Necessity. Gotta have some fuel to keep the fire goin'."

"...Oh." Benny fumbled with his hands. "And thats why you're in here?"

"Mmm-hmm," Crops rumbled with a nod. "Kept a hawk in a cage for huntin' the rabbits."

"Hm." Benny shook some dust off his shoulder. "Well, that sounds a bit mean."

"Eh. What can you do." Crops looked up, craning his neck to the Sheriff's desk. "You know when that old bastard's comin' back?"

"He went out chasing them bandits, so who knows." Benny shrugged. He then felt a strange bump in his pocket as he moved, and remembered what he had brought. "Uh, well… since he ain't coming back for a while, do ya' mind if I stay here?"

Crops' red eye widened at that. "Er, excuse me?"

"I brought cards," Benny explained, pulling the deck from his pocket and snapping the top of the box open with his thumb. "We can play Blackjack, or War, or… whatever you're good at."

"You," Crops drawled, "want to spend time with _me_?" 

"Yeah!"

The man hesitated, taking in the boy's giddy features. "Well, what about this?" He reached over and picked up the skull he was carrying earlier. The sudden movement caused a pocket of viscera to spill from one of the eye sockets. "I could do the same to you. If you were just an inch closer…" he used his other arm to reach through the bars, extending claw-tipped fingers towards Benny. "I can tear you to pieces."

Benny, however, just raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you can read cards, too." He slid the deck into his hands and began to shuffle. "We playin' Blackjack?"

Crops opened his mouth for a protest, but found none leaving his gravelly throat. So, he drew his arm back into his cell with a shrug. "Sure. Blackjack sounds fun to me."

They played. Game after game, card after card, with plenty of laughter and lighthearted banter.

_"Hey, you grabbed two cards!"_

_"No I didn't."_

_"I can see 'em in your hand right now!"_

_"Nah, you're just seein' stuff."_

_"Come on, play the game fair!"_

_"You_ really _wanna try takin' the cards from me?"_

_"...Alright, you win."_

They were playing so long they didn't realize the hoofbeats pounding outside. Benny only looked up when he heard hard steel-shoed hooves clomp onto the hardwood floors. Before Benny could react, a strong, calloused hand gripped the back of his neck and hefted him effortlessly into the air.

"Now, what in Prime's damned hell are you doin' in here, boy!?" Sheriff Thompson barked, lifting the boy to his face so a cracked tusk bumped into his cheek. 

Benny flinched, weakly holding his arms up. Cards fell out of his hands and fluttered to the ground. "Sh-sheriff! Hey, put me down, I can—!"

"What is the _one thing_ I ask of you?" Sheriff Thompson interrupted, a snarl in the back of his throat. "Every single day, i tell you to keep your scrawny little ass out of this jail. So what the hell are you doin' in here?"

"I-I was… uh…!" Benny grunted as the Sheriff unceremoniously dropped him back on the floor. He crouched to pick up his cards. "You see, I just wanted to, uh…" he cringed away when the sheriff's hoof closed in on a finger.

Crops stood, a motion he made clear by stamping his own rabbit-like foot. "All due respect, Sheriff, this 'n is on me. Benny came in here, and I let 'im stay."

Sheriff Thompson looked at the cards scattered among the floor, then paced to his desk. "What's a little orphan boy want with a cannibal murderer? Playin' Go Fish with a man who'll nibble your fingers like frog legs?"

"We were playin' Blackjack, actually," Crops corrected. "B'sides, he ain't bad company."

"I just wanted ta' see 'im," Benny explained. "And I made a plan of leavin' before you came back, but we got so caught up in the game that I lost track of time, and _really_ , Crops is nice once ya' get to know him!"

"Boy." The Sheriff's gun clattered onto his table, and he looked down at Benny. The cards were now sloppily gathered into his hands, and he was trying desperately to get them all to face the right way. "I don't give a damn what you think, or wanna see, and I _certainly_ —" he turned to Crops— "can't give less than two shits about _your_ opinion." 

He turned back to Benny, lip curling in anger. "I'm the sheriff of this town, and the jailer to all our criminals. If I _say_ something, you better listen. If I _tell you_ to do somethin', you do it. Understand?"

Benny swallowed hard, shuffling his feet. He have a tiny nod.

"Hm? I don't speak head-flappin'."

"Yes, sir," Benny forced out, flipping the Ace of Clubs into a right facing position."

"Good. Now get the hell outta' here."

Crops watched as Benny scurried out, then cast his lazy red eye to his jailer as the hog took a grateful seat at his desk. "You're too hard on the boy," he muttered.

"What did I just say about not givin' two shits about your opinion?"

"Too bad, I'm givin' it to you." Crops paced the length of his cell, kicking the skull back and forth like a can down the road. "Benny's a good kid. He ain't try to set me free, or do any damage. All he wanted was to play some cards. He ain't older than twelve, you can't blame him for gettin' curious."

Sheriff Thompson's hand found its way to his gun, a finger closing around the trigger. "I give you three seconds to quit talkin'." 

Crops stepped away from the cell bars with a shrug. "Just sayin'. Maybe go easy on him once in a while."

The man lay back down in his cot, staring up at the stone ceiling. His rabbit ear hung off the top of the bed, picking up sounds of critters scurrying from outside. It was dark now, lamps extinguished and the sheriff dead asleep at his desk with a shotglass still in his hand next to an open bottle of whiskey.

Crops had one hand nestled under his head, the other twirling an Ace of Spades around his fingers. It was the one card that Benny forgot to grab in his panic. If the boy loved that deck, he'd come back for the card. Part of him _hoped_ he would come back, that something would distract the Sheriff enough for Benny to sneak in again. He honestly didn't mind the company– even though he couldn't eat it.

 _Eat… damn, I'm hungry._ He clutched at his stomach with the realization. _Somebody better come through them doors quick._

* * *

Weeks turned into months that Crops spent in Benny's company. Sooner rather than later, Sheriff Thompson stopped trying to make the boy leave; instead he just closely monitored the two when they interacted.

There was never any bad blood, never any fights. Benny didn't seem to care that his best friend was always going to be on the other side of a wall of iron bars, and eventually he started picking up the distant rotting smell that Crops carried with him.

There was one cold midnight when the sheriff was asleep at his desk, yet Benny was wide awake and tiptoeing into the jail. "C-Crops?"

Crops was half-awake as he tilted his head up. "Hngh… wha, Ben?"

"Um, you awake?" The little boy knelt down next to the cell bars. "Crops, are-are you—"

His ear twitched up upon hearing an all-too-familiar waver of a sob in his voice. "Yeah, I'm awake." Almost immediately, he rolled out of his cot and leaped to his feet, only to kneel down in front of him. Sure enough, tears were streaked down Benny's face. "Woah, hey, what happened?"

Benny was clutching a hand to his chest, where a dark blossom of blood spread across his vest. "I-I had a bad dream," he sobbed, trying to keep quiet. "It was real scary. You were there, and there was this big red tree with all these weird roots comin' up and killin' everybody, and… and then I woke up and started gettin' outta' bed for some water, but then I tripped over that wood board in my room– the one that sticks up all strange– and I fell over and I cut my hand and—"

"Hey, hey, hey…" Crops reached through the bars to gently take Benny's bleeding hand. "Shhh, it's okay. It was just a bad dream, okay?" He turned his hand over to face palm-up. He thanked the heavens that his eyes provided natural night vision, so he could clearly see the nasty scuff cutting his skin. "Oof, yeah, that looks pretty bad. You didn't have anything ta' clean it with?"

"I had alcohol," Benny murmured, sniffling, "but that hurt a bit too much to put on."

"Hmm… shit, okay." Crops grasped at his neck, at his own bandana, and tugged it off. "Here, let's try this."

Benny could only watch as Crops held him by the wrist, using his blood-stained fangs to rip into his bandana and tear it into sizeable chunks. Then, the patches of blue cloth were tied around his palm, and Crops held firmly with both hands. 

"There," he murmured, "it'll stop the bleeding at least."

Benny stared at his hand, enveloped in Crops'. He sniffled, then gave a tiny smile. "Uh, hah… thanks. I-I honestly don't know why I thought ta' come here of all places in the middle of the night, but…"

"You know you're welcome here any time," Crops said. His ear twitched, leaning out of the cell bars. "You ever have problems, just let me know."

"Thanks." The response was almost automated as Benny stared at the floor.

Crops tilted his head. "Wanna tell me about your dream? Sounded pretty scary."

"It was," Benny murmured. "This big red tree came outta' the ground, right in the middle of town! It started growin' these big wild roots that just started stabbing into people left an' right."

"A red tree?" Crops mused. "That musta' been your first tipoff that it was a dream. Ain't no trees 'round here– 'specially red ones."

"Well, yeah, but it felt real. All them roots stabbin' into people, and everybody screaming. I-I tried to go to you, but you were already dead, and all I could do was just stand there and—"

"Hey, shh…" Crops reached one of his hands up to ruffle Benny's hair. "It was just a dream, scrapper. I'm still here, alive an' kickin'. Ain't like a _tree_ can kill me, not even that hoglin of a sheriff can kill me."

Benny lurched forward, snaking his arms through the bars to wrap Crops in a rather uncomfortable hug. There wasn't much they could do on opposite sides of the cell, but Crops did his best to hug the boy with a long arm. 

"It'll be okay, Ben," Crops said, patting his back. "One bad night ain't gonna kill ya'."

With the way his friend said it, Benny knew it was true.

The Sheriff awoke that morning to see Benny curled up against the cell bars, Crops holding his hand on the other side. He stood, clomping his hooves at first, but he saw the wayward twitch of a purple rabbit ear and decided to let them sleep. _That boy better be gone by the time I'm back._

* * *

It was dusk.

There were sounds of some sort of scuffle outside, but it wasn't of much concern to Crops as he rocked the evening away in his cot. He hadn't eaten all day– nothing _to_ eat– but the hollow churning of his stomach was something he was used to by now.

It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice shriek among the others that he gained interest in what was going on outside. He rolled out of his cot, hopped to his feet, and peered into the tiny window at the back of his cell. All he saw were silhouettes of cacti illuminated by the dimming pink of the sky. Stars were coming out of hiding, if just barely.

Then, he heard familiar hooves storming into the jail. He whirled around to find Sheriff Thompson stumbling his way into the building, as if thrown or shoved. His broad shoulders slammed into the cell bars, making Crops jump back. "Sheriff, what's happening!?"

Sheriff Thompson growled, shaking the dizziness out of his head. "No time ta' talk!" He shouted, heading towards his desk and grabbing a handful of ammo belts. Then, he was back out the door.

He heard so many people screaming, guns firing this-way-and-that, horses neighing and hoofbeats pounding on the hard earth. 

The familiar shriek rose again.

Crops grabbed for his cell bars. "Benny! Benny, you out there!?"

The jail's doors flew open with a _crash_ as Benny tumbled in. He barely stopped in time to avoid colliding with the cell bars. "Crops!" His voice was as rushed and panicked as his eyes. "Crops, they're back!"

"Bandits?" _Those gun-slingin' sons of—!_

"Yeah, the bandits! They're taking from the bank, and… and they brought new people this time!"

"New people? What kind of new people?"

"It's this pig, like the Sheriff, and- and these other guys in suits. They-they came up in this big carriage… I think they're gonna try takin' everything from the bank! They're shootin' everyone in their way!"

Crops snarled, a sound he could barely hear over a horse galloping past the jail. "Okay… you know where the sheriff keeps the keys?"

"You want me to let you out?" Benny's mouth formed a terrified O.

"I can't keep you safe if I'm locked in here!" Crops shook at the bars of his cell. "So either you let me out, or you come in here with me!" He wasn't trying to shout, but panic was rising deep within his throat, making his hollow stomach churn with everything that he hadn't eaten. "Do you know where the Sheriff keeps his keys?"

"Um…" Benny looked to the desk. "I can check the drawers. They gotta be somewhere by his desk!"

Crops kept an uneasy eye on the doors, his rabbit feet thumping and twitching as Benny tossed aside papers and scraps on Sheriff Thompson's desk.

"Come on, come on," Benny whined, opening a drawer. "Where the hell…! It's a big key! How hard is it to find!?"

Feet stomped into the cell, and Benny froze when it wasn't the Sheriff.

Spurs clinked, and a revolver turned a round into place. From underneath the brim of a wide hat, there was a deepset smirk aimed at the man trapped in the cell. Following the stranger were two other figures, one definitely out of place.

"Whoo- _ee_!" The leader of the bandits cried, using his free hand to wave at the air in front of him. "Boy, it smells worse n' a buzzard's dinner in here!"

"I expected nothing less from these savage commoners," the out-of-place individual remarked, wrinkling his pig snout. He wore a crisp black suit, staring at the jail cell, then Benny, through the holes of a black-and-gold halfmask. His ears were evenly raised atop his head, arms tucked delicately behind his back.

"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town!" The bandit leader cackled, strolling over to the Sheriff's desk. He peered at a terrified Benny as he danced his fingers methodically along the several knick-knacks littering the desk. He finally picked up a tarnished gold pin, one of Sheriff Thompson's extras, and settled it on his vest proudly. "There we go!" 

Benny tried stepping away, but his back only bumped into the wall. "Y-You ain't got any business bein' here!" He snapped bravely.

The bandit merely deepend his smirk. "Hey there, son."

"Hey, _hey_!" Crops desperately lashed through the bars, but the bandit's lackey braved a step forward to shove him back. "You leave that boy alone!"

The leader turned, his thin smirk breaking into a wide grin. "You mean…" he snapped an arm forward, catching Benny by the collar. " _This_ boy?"

The bandit's lackey let out a whoop. "Aw, haw-haw yeah! Sheriff wants his boy back, he'll have to come through _us_!"

Benny squealed, reaching feebly for his hair. "Hey! L-Lemme go!" He tried punching out, but the leader grabbed his wrist and gave him a swift knee to the stomach. He nearly crumbled to the floor of it weren't for the bandit holding him up.

"Hey!" Crops lashed out again, snarling and making his jail bars tremor. "You put the boy down– PUT HIM DOWN NOW!!" 

The bandit leader shuffled back at the hoarse scream, half-hidden eyes wide with shock. "Well, well… if it ain't the Jackrabbit himself. They finally put you behind bars, huh?" Without breaking stare, he handed Benny off to his lackey, who put the boy into a firm chokehold.

Crops fumed in response, raggedy ear flicking back.

"You care about the boy?" The bandit leader asked, coolly stepping forward with a revolver aimed at his chest in a second. "You actually have a heart under all them teeth and claws?"

"I could rip you to shreds," Crops snarled. "I dare you. Get that hand just an _inch_ closer to me."

"How barbaric," the pig muttered, shaking his head. "Are all the townsfolk like this?"

"Unfortunately," the lackey quipped, pulling Benny along the floor to the rest of the men. "But hey; you get your money, we get a bargain chip."

"Please," Benny coughed, "please lemme go!" He tried to tug his arm out of the lackey's grip, but all he could do was duck his head with a coughing fit. "P-Please…"

"Sorry, kid," the leader sneered, "You're comin' with us!"

" _Actually…_ " the foriegn pig leaned his head. "He looks fairly young… well and capable. I don't doubt he has chores to tend to around this town?"

The bandit leader raised an eyebrow. "The hell are you on about, richie?"

"You may have your bargaining chip, but I still need a butler for my mansion. I'm sure there's other things you can steal for the Sheriff to see you as a threat, no?"

"What are you sayin'?" The lackey asked, " _you_ want the kid?"

The pig held a hand out. "I will gladly take him off your hands if he's too much of a bother."

"Woah, woah, hey now." The leader held his hand up, sneering. "Now it sounds like you're just tryna' take everything for yourself! What's in it for us?"

The pig hummed, tapping his chin. "Fine. You can have a cut of the bank gold."

"Hm…" the leader turned to his lackey. "We can always use the gold."

"You're talkin' like there ain't a little boy's life on the line!" Crops shouted.

The leader turned his gaze to Crops. "Since when do you have a heart that you don't eat?" He turned back to the pig with a nod. "Fine, we'll take the gold. The boy can go with you."

Benny's stomach dropped. His hitched breathing picked up pace, and now more than ever he tried jerking out of the grip he was held in. "N-No! No, I don't wanna go anywhere!"

Crops let out a warning growl. "You better leave the boy alone," he snapped, "you _really_ don't want to become an enemy of mine."

The pig turned to face him, merely quirking an eyebrow. "Something tells me I already am." 

They held each other's stare silently. The pig had no hint of joy on his face. If anything he was hard to read– especially with the mask. 

"Crops," Benny wheezed, gently raising his head to look at the man. "Crops, h-help…"

Crops' nose wrinkled as he bared his teeth in a snarl. "Don't need ta' tell me twice, Ben."

Within a split-second, his claws snagged onto the lackey's sleeve. The cell bars rattled and _clanged_ as he yanked the man's body into them. A hollow _crack_ resounded as the man's skull collided with the heavy iron. A sickening _crunch_ was accompanied by a high, surprised shriek. 

Crops had the man's wrist between his teeth, his fangs buried into the skin and his tongue already lapping up drops of delicious scarlet. With a strong arm, he held the man by the neck with his claws dug in to keep him from escaping.

The man still screamed as Benny scrabbled away from them, bolting for the door. "GET HIM OFF! GET HIM OFF ME!!" 

"Don't let that boy get away!" The pig shouted, giving half-hearted chase after Benny.

A gunshot deafened Crops, and a white-hot pang sizzled through his forehead. The bullet merely made him stagger back, pulling the lackey's arm with him. The man's screaming got louder, and his teeth felt the vibrations of bones moving… moving… crunching…

Another gunshot rang in his ear, piercing it too, but his iron jaw didn't loosen from its hold. He felt flesh ripping away, bone splintering under his teeth, and he gave the lackey another hard pull in a hungry attempt to force him inside the cell. 

One more gunshot, and Crops lashed his hand out for the bullet to miss. His palm slammed into the leader's revolver, forcing it out of his hands and sending it shattering to the floor. He let out an animalistic, starving growl. _Hungry,_ was all he could think. _Hungry, hungry, starving, starving, tasty fucking food—_

One more pull on the man's arm, and a sickening _POP_ announced the shoulder out of its socket. The loud shriek the lackey sent out gave Crops a warm feeling in his stomach, one that made him grin and finally pull his mouth away from the man's arm, crunching skin and bone gratefully.

Crops groaned once his mouth was empty. "Ohh, that hit the spot." His eye found the lackey's, a wide smile streaked with blood– both of theirs. There was a buzzing sting from where the bullets hit him, but all he cared about was the savory, squirming meal in front of him. 

He snapped his hand up to catch the lackey by the front of the throat, closing his screams into choked squeaks. "Aw, don't look so down," he murmured, the gravel in his throat bubbling with blood. "You taste fantastic! You can't blame a dog for eating a carcass when it's all he's got to eat."

He didn't notice that the bandit leader had taken this opportunity to run out the door. He just focused on the horrified stare the lackey gave him as he dug into his arm for another bite.

"Lemme go!" The lackey pleaded hoarsely, using his only hand now to claw at Crops' death grip on his throat. "Please, please, _please_!"

"Beg all you want," Crops whispered breathlessly, pressing the lackey's head harder into the cell bars. "That makes it taste sweeter."

All the man could do was beg.

When Crops had severed the man enough to drag the body into his cell, Sheriff Thompson's hooves came clomping through the door. The moon was sending beams through every slat of the wood it could, illuminating the bloodbath Crops' cell had become.

"Aw, bloody hell!" Sheriff Thompson gruffed, smacking a tired hand to his face. "Crops, who the hell is that?"

Crops responded with a deep breath, half-eaten skull in his hands. "Nobody important." He raised an eyebrow. "Who was the other pig that come in? With the bandits."

"No clue," he said, "but he made off with a sizeable chunk of our bank!"

Crops growled disinterestedly at first, but then his brain _panged_ from the bullet wound– along with a memory. "Wait. Where's Benny?"

"Benny?" Sheriff Thompson snuffed. "I dunno."

"You didn't see him out there?" The skull rolled out of his hands then, and he stood up. 

"Nope. I was a little busy tryin' to stop them bandits from makin' off with the money. I ain't got time to watch out for that boy."

"You _didn't see him_?" Crops staggered to the cell bars, grasping one with a bloody hand. "Did anyone?"

A gun clattered onto the desk, and a sigh escape the Sheriff's mouth. "I _don't know_ . We all had better things to worry about than a little orphan boy. I think the only one that's seen 'im tonight is _you_."

Crops' jaw dropped, blood running down his chin. "No," he whispered, "no, no, that's… that's not…!"

"What has gotten into you?" Sheriff Thompson crossed his arms after wrestling off his vest. "You know damn well that boy will be back at your cell before the sun rises."

"He might not," Crops insisted. "Because that damn pig was talkin' about stealin' him!"

Sheriff Thompson paused, casting his blind eye in Crops' direction. 

"Can you _please_ look for him?" Crops asked, trying not to let the desperation show. 

The Sheriff shrugged and took a seat, an action that made Crops' heart freeze. "Sorry, Crops. It's late, it's cold, and we're all tired. And, not ta' strike any offense, but not havin' the boy around is one less mouth to worry about feedin'."

His heart was beating again, sending crashing waves of blood into his ears. "You did _not_ just say that," he snarled.

"I did." The Sheriff reached behind his desk and pulled out his whiskey. "Besides, if the boy's okay then he'll come by."

"But what if he _doesn't_?" Crops rattled the bars of his cell. "What's it gonna take for you to start caring about a little boy?"

"How about that _little boy_ pull his own weight for once?" Sheriff Thompson snapped, his shotglass clinking onto his desk. "He's twelve, not two. How 'bout the little bastard pick his _own_ horse's hooves, how bout he _clean up_ those damn messes he makes?" Alcohol drizzled into his glass as he let out a snort. "Maybe that prim n' proper, high-falootin' pig can teach him some manners."

Crops' snarl choked into a sob. He didn't register the tears falling from his eyes until he tasted the salt on his tongue. He stepped away from the bars, staring at his bloody hands. He couldn't say anything, much less think of what to say.

Finally, as he staggered into his cot, his brain tried to work out rationalities.

_He's fine. Benny's okay. He wiggled away and weasled off like he always does. He might be hurt, but when has a chipped tooth ever stopped him? He's gonna run through them doors tomorrow, alive n' kickin'._

_He's okay._

He closed his eyes, hoping and praying to the stars above that his silent statement rang true.

He waited in his cell.

And waited.

And ate.

And waited some more.

And ate some more.

And then he waited again.

He had lost the last shred of hope he had when he closed his eyes for the thirteenth night, picking between his teeth with the fragment of a bone. 

With the other hand, he twirled around a worn-out Ace of Spades, watching the card flip between his fingers. Blood had dried on the corner, the only bloodstain he allowed to tarnish the card. It traveled in an inside pocket of his vest at all times– save for times like this, where he stared at it and tried not to cry. It was the only card that managed to slip out of Benny's pocket that night, and now it was the last thing Crops had of him.

Benny was gone. Nobody had seen him since that night. Crops was positive, along with everyone else in town who gave half-a-mind, that the pig thief had taken him along with the golden riches.

He's the only one that didn't care about the gold. He was the only one that cared about the _life_ he stole. Yet all he could do was rot away and wait for someone to come just a little too close to his cell. All he could do was rot, like the corpse he was.

Maybe this is what a cannibal deserves. 

To lose the only thing he's found warmth in, to attach to something only to have it ripped away from him. After all, that's what he does to everyone else. He takes people with lovers, with families, with pets, and he tears into them and flays them out and leaves nothing behind but bones. He takes others' warmth and saps it up for himself.

He's selfish, he knows this. He's so damn selfish, and he can't stand it when others are. He's a hypocrite, a walking contradiction, a cannibal, a monster.

This is what he deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry champs we can pog thru the pain


End file.
